


Opening Doors

by tunamayo



Category: Free!
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, flashback to M&H as kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunamayo/pseuds/tunamayo
Summary: Haru goes to Makoto’s new apartment in Tokyo to help him unpack. He discovers something from their childhood and gets caught up in nostalgia, not expecting to also discover some feelings he has always had for his best friend.





	

Haru hesitated outside the unfamiliar door. Its gray paint seemed to be in good condition, cracking only a little near the bottom where the previous owner had presumably kicked it open quite frequently. He speculated that it must have had a habit of getting stuck. But Haru didn't know this door, nor the sounds pushing against it—the passing of cars and the bustle of people, a constant commotion that relentlessly reminded him he was far from home. These were Tokyo sounds that he still hadn't gotten used to in the week since he and Makoto had arrived. 

He pulled out his phone, scrolled through Makoto’s lengthy texts, and confirmed he had the right address. Meaning this door was Makoto's now. His new door to his new home. Haru knocked lightly, adding an unsettling hollowness to the noises surrounding him. He knew that Makoto was running expectantly late from the post office, but it still felt rude to enter unannounced. He reached down to pick up the inverted green cup that sat in front of the door, revealing a key. He remembered this cup, remembered its weight, remembered the time Makoto knocked it off the nightstand, drenching Haru who was asleep on the futon below him, laughter interrupting his tired apologies. 

Pushing the door with more force than he had intended, Haru stumbled into the apartment. He squinted at the sudden brightness that screamed at him in contrast to the gloomy gray that his eyes had grown accustomed to. There was a large window at the back of the room; Makoto had the curtains open, allowing the sun to shine through. It was the same sun from back home, the same one that would make Makoto be especially cheerful today. Haru blushed at the familiar thought as he watched dust particles flittering down like confetti, a mocking celebration of his clumsy entrance. Makoto hadn't been exaggerating when he said his apartment was small. Even without the moving boxes, there wasn't much space. 

While he contemplated the logistics, Haru realized he was still holding the green cup, clutching it tightly, his hand starting to sweat around it. As he set it by the door, he noticed a peculiar box out of the corner of his eye. He walked the ten steps to the back of the room and slowly approached the box, afraid it might somehow run off if he got too close. There was nothing strange about it specifically, aside from what was written on the side—“Haru.” Maybe Makoto had intended for Haru to start unpacking this box. The very reasonable thoughts telling him he was absolutely wrong weren’t enough to stop him from opening it. 

Haru sat down and pulled off the tape, glancing up toward the door as if to get its permission to continue. Relieved that it didn’t object, he opened the flaps and was immediately drawn to a large rolled-up piece of paper placed vertically inside. Before even viewing it completely, he knew what it was, surprised that Makoto still had it. They couldn’t have been more than six years old when they drew this. He held his breath while unrolling the paper, needing to have his assumptions confirmed.

* * * * *

"Haru-chan, look who's here!"

Haru looked up from his coloring book, already knowing it was Makoto, ignoring the possibility that it was more of a hope than a certainty. His mom gently guided Makoto into Haru's room and turned to leave them alone. Haru often liked to play by himself, but playing with Makoto was nice, too. He talked a lot sometimes, but his voice was soft, his quiet presence even softer.

"Hi, Haru-chan! Are you coloring? Can I color, too?" He smiled, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

If he knew the answer to the first question, why did he even ask? Haru nodded, and Makoto grabbed a coloring book from the shelf before sitting down. He wasn't very good at staying in the lines, so Haru had a different book for him to use. It was filled with pictures of animals drawn with thick black lines, perfect for containing his uncontrolled scribbling. 

Makoto turned randomly to a page of a dog holding a bone in its mouth. "What color should I color the dog?"

"...Whatever you want."

"But if it were Haru-chan, what color would he use?"

This was typical of Makoto, always asking Haru what colors to use. It didn't really bother him; he just thought it was odd. Why couldn't he decide the color he thought was best? 

"Black," Haru replied. It was easier to just comply.

"Ah, but you're using the black one right now. That's OK."

Makoto reached out and grabbed the green crayon. Haru assumed he would start with the dog's collar until the black crayon was free to use but was shocked to see he was making the dog itself green. It made Haru feel uneasy, seeing an animal being colored a shade that it shouldn't be. Makoto gripped the crayon tightly, moving it erratically, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth deep in concentration. He suddenly felt Haru watching him and stopped, meeting his eyes. 

Haru presumed he didn’t even need to speak for Makoto to understand what he was thinking, but he wanted to be clear. "Dogs aren't green, Makoto."

Makoto smiled. "This one is!"

Haru laughed softly through his nose. Despite having what he thought was a full understanding of his best friend, Haru still had moments of complete surprise. While Makoto returned to the picture, his eyes settled upon a book that was lying across from them on the table. He furrowed his brow trying to understand the title. He was still fairly inefficient at reading, but that wasn't the problem; the book's title was undoubtedly in English.

"Haru can read English?" he asked, his confused expression turning into awe. 

He grabbed the book and turned the pages, studying the pictures, trying to make sense of the symbols. The first page was a young girl throwing a basketball into a hoop. The entire book showed kids playing different activities. Haru’s dad had brought the book home for him, but learning to read it was difficult, so he didn't like to do it. 

"I only know some of the words." He wished Makoto would go back to the green dog.

"That's amazing, Haru! Tell me!"

Haru couldn't deny the genuine excitement in Makoto's voice. The book was open to a picture of two young boys in a pool. "This is pronounced _swim_. _The boys swim._ " He recalled more from memory than actually reading the words.

" _Swimmm_ ," Makoto repeated, keeping his lips pressed together to exaggerate the end of the word. " _Swimmm_. Like that?"

Without even saying so, Haru knew Makoto was giving him too much credit. He returned to coloring, indicating he was done with the English lesson. Makoto also went back to his picture, but when Haru glanced over, he saw that he had stopped coloring and was filling the page with writing. Haru's jaw dropped. He didn’t like extra markings in his books. He made mental note not to let Makoto near any others.

Makoto noticed the expression on his face and offered an explanation. "I don't write in books usually. Just this one. It’s mine, too, right? I wouldn't ruin your books."

It was like Makoto was able to read his thoughts. It happened frequently, and although he felt like it should unsettle him, he took comfort in their silent communications. 

“Oh. It’s OK.”

“Do you mean it, Haru?” 

He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. Makoto could understand everything else, so why not that? 

Makoto scooted closer so Haru could see what he had written. "I've been practicing to write my name, see? Tachibana Mako-chan—er, Makoto." He covered his mouth, giggling. He was so used to being called Mako-chan that sometimes he forgot to call himself Makoto. He really only heard it when Haru said it, so it seemed like a nickname reserved just for his use. "Do you wanna write yours?" he asked, pointing to a blank space next to his own name.

Haru recalled the way the words looked and wrote them the best he could. Makoto quickly copied them, so Haru tried copying Makoto's own. There wasn't much space left, so he got up and grabbed a large piece of paper from his art supplies. He cleared the table to make room and wrote his name with a blue crayon right in the middle. Makoto followed his lead and wrote his own name next to Haru's, using that infernal green crayon. There was still a lot of empty space, so underneath their names, Haru wrote one of the few English words he knew from his book— _friends_. 

Makoto's eyes never left the paper, staring intensely as though his gaze would be enough to properly translate the letters. Finally he asked what it said. Haru replied, feeling the heat of the blush in his cheeks. Makoto looked up at Haru, smiling widely, as though he had just figured out the meaning of all the time they spent together. It was obvious they were friends. It was to Haru, anyway. Underneath that, Haru watched as Makoto also wrote something. It took him a second to make sense of the sloppy letters; he had written _swim_. Haru, nearly laughing, asked what that had to do with anything. 

"Well... it's the only word I know."

Haru couldn't argue with that. The two then began to draw all over the paper, writing each other's name, writing their own names, drawing simple pictures of stick figures, animals, hearts, and stars. They did this task in silence, sharing the simple joy of just being together, allowing the paper to absorb all the feelings they put into it. Every now and then, they'd stop to see what the other had illustrated, turning the paper to keep their different drawings mixed together, adding to what the other person had done. Eventually, their crayons slowed, tips worn down. Their eyelids grew heavy, and they fell asleep.

Makoto woke up to the feeling of his mom's arms around him. "Time to go home, Mako-chan."

Makoto looked around, noticing he was still in Haru's room. Haru's mom knelt on the floor, stroking Haru's hair as he woke up. She noticed the paper and pointed to the middle where the two had written their names. 

Makoto's mom looked closer. "Did you write that, Haru-chan? Such a smart boy!" 

Makoto beamed on Haru's behalf and interjected his own accomplishments. “I wrote my name. And see, _swimmm_! Haru-chan taught me." His face got serious for a moment, his voice quieter. "Am I smart, too?"

Haru didn't know why, but it hurt to see Makoto’s expression change so quickly. He somehow felt responsible.

"You're very smart! You did such a good job!" Makoto's mom answered without any hesitation, beckoning the return of his smile. That was how it should be, Haru thought. 

She instructed Makoto to say goodbye, and Makoto’s face changed again. It was such a genuine sadness. Haru felt it, too. Makoto quietly protested that he didn’t get to finish coloring, tears threatening to fall. 

Now it was Haru who quickly responded. "We can finish it next time."

There it was. His facial expression changed instantly. The mere suggestion of more time to spend with Haru was enough to take away the pained look on his face. It felt nice to be responsible for that. As he watched Makoto leave, Haru knew that he wanted to make Makoto smile more.

* * * * *

Haru stared at the scribbles on the paper. He couldn’t remember all the details of that day, but he remembered the importance of their time spent together. Wrapped up in nostalgia and feelings he didn’t have time to fully comprehend, Haru jumped when he suddenly heard the door, heard it stick, heard Makoto give it a gentle kick open. He stared at the door, feeling betrayed by its lack of a warning. He didn't have time to hide what he was doing, and Makoto's panicked appearance and red cheeks let him know he was looking at something he shouldn't have been.

"Ha—Haru! That's, um..." Makoto fumbled over his words as he knelt in front of Haru, searching for some explanation as to why he had a box with his best friend's name on it, filled with old things that should no longer matter. "It must seem strange. To find something like this."

Haru apologized for going through it without permission, unable to pinpoint why he felt so nervous, realizing he felt that way since he arrived. He tried to roll up the paper, but his hastiness resulted in him bending it. He apologized again, sitting still with eyes on the ground, waiting for Makoto to say something, anything. He was surprised when Makoto broke the silence with his laughter. 

While Haru had his gaze directed downward, Makoto had been looking inside the box. He pulled out a picture, turning it so Haru could see. It showed the two of them, only a few years old, sitting and crying on the floor of Makoto’s home. They were still young enough that the five-month age gap made small Haru look much older than the very small Makoto. Makoto’s laugh filled the empty apartment, bringing in a beautiful warmth that rivaled the incoming sunlight. Haru didn’t understand why it was so funny, but he smiled, simply enjoying Makoto’s enjoyment.

“We were crying long enough that my mom had time to get the camera and take this picture. I wonder what it was about.” 

From Haru’s own memories and the stories his parents told, he didn’t cry much as a kid. Neither did Makoto, except when it was time for him to part ways with Haru. That was probably the cause of the outburst forever memorialized in that picture.

Makoto echoed his thoughts. “Ah, I bet your mom came to pick you up. I was saddest at those times. Even then, I always cherished my time with Haru.” He laughed softly to himself, staring at the picture. 

_Even then._ Haru narrowed in on those words and watched Makoto’s smile fade. As he put the picture back in the box, an uncomfortable silence wrapped around them, one that Haru had never experienced with Makoto. Their silences weren’t like this, hanging heavy and cold, tangible enough to reach out and touch. He felt his heartbeat quicken, and the more he realized he didn’t know what to say, the more anxious he became. All he could do was watch Makoto rolling up the paper, placing it back in the box, closing the flaps. It was too methodical, less that he was cleaning up, more that he was distracting himself.

Makoto finally returned his eyes to Haru’s, smiling in an attempt to fool Haru into thinking everything was fine. Haru could always tell, and he was angry that Makoto thought he could lie to him, even angrier if he was trying to lie to himself.

“I’m glad you could come over. It's already weird not seeing each other every day.” Makoto’s smile wavered. His mask was slipping, eyes desperate for reassurance from Haru.

“We still talk. We'll always have our phones,” Haru replied, recognizing the irrelevance of his words before he even spoke them.

He knew a phone call couldn’t replace spontaneous meetings at the bottom of the stairs. Nights on the beach sitting under the stars. Curious subconscious glances out bedroom windows to see if the other was awake or asleep. Haru would especially miss the days when Makoto would leave his curtains open, sunny days like today, catching glimpses of him singing along to music or playing games with the twins.

“Mm, that’s true, but we’re both going to be so busy. And I’d like to get a part-time job, too, you know? To help out with expenses.”

“It’ll be enough.” Haru left it at that, though he had something else entirely he wanted to add. It was Makoto who made the decision to live in separate apartments. It was always Makoto leading him—the reason he joined the swim club, the reason he agreed to relays, the reason he came to Tokyo. No, that wasn’t right. Haru had been scouted by a few schools, but the one in Tokyo looked the best. Or so he told himself. Perhaps Makoto wasn’t the only one wearing a mask. “It’ll be enough,” he repeated, as if putting the words out twice would make them stronger, impervious to being shattered by whatever Makoto would say next.

“Enough for you, maybe.” Makoto looked down, embarrassed by his own honesty. There was so much more he wanted to say, but his words suddenly overflowed in the form of tears. It had been a long time since he had cried like this. He wasn’t even sure if this qualified as crying. He wasn’t even sure if he was sad. It was more an overwhelming confusion, a feeling of being broken by the simultaneous relief and regret of baring his emotions. 

He looked up at Haru, tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision. He smiled, nearly laughing. He felt ridiculous. He wanted Haru to tell him so, to stand up and get them focused on unpacking, to help him ignore what he was feeling. But he knew Haru was waiting for him to speak, so like always, he obliged.

“I’m sorry, Haru. I think I just love you too much.”

Haru’s chest tightened at Makoto’s words. He had always thought it was just a figure of speech when people said that love made their hearts hurt, but it truly felt like his was being squeezed just then, no longer beating, taking away his breath. He wanted to reach into his chest and tear away whatever was causing this. It wasn’t the first time Makoto had said he loved Haru, but this was different somehow, like this could be the last. What hurt the most was the idea that it was too much. Haru didn’t understand what that meant; he could only infer that Makoto believed he loved Haru more than Haru loved Makoto. 

Haru couldn’t help but stare, trying to transmit his thoughts into his best friend’s mind, unsure how to verbalize everything. It was always like that; instead of speaking aloud, he relied on Makoto to just know what he was thinking. It was unfair, selfish, impossible. Haru knew that. He suddenly felt like the floor was dropping out from under him, like he was falling, like he’d never stop. Panicking at the thought of slipping away, he reached out and grabbed Makoto’s hand, desperate for the comfort of his familiar base. It was steady. No matter what, it was always steady for Haru. 

Makoto let out a small gasp, startled by the unexpected contact. He was used to pulling Haru, but now he felt Haru pushing forward toward him, using the firm grasp on his hand as a means of balance. As Makoto looked up, his first thought was that the tears blurring his vision were creating an optical illusion; he blinked, and Haru’s face appeared suddenly right in front of his. It wasn’t until he felt lips pressed against his own that he knew it was real. 

Barely even realizing what was happening, Makoto reflexively pulled back, breaking completely free from Haru’s touch. The two stared at each other, breathing erratically, completely out of sync. Haru’s eyes widened with the realization of what he had just done, and he sensed that unbearable heat return to his face. He wanted the floor to swallow him up and take him away. He looked to the door. It had been troublesome from the start. He needed to say something to Makoto. An apology. He had done something terrible. 

“I’m sorry. I … I misread the situation.” It was the best he could do under these circumstances.

Haru started to stand and made it as far as he could past Makoto, but Makoto turned and caught his wrist before he could really go anywhere. He fell back quickly to his knees, eyes on the exit, too mortified to turn around. He would stay like this forever if it meant never having to look Makoto in the eye again. 

“Did you mean it, Haru?”

_The kiss._ Surely Makoto knew the answer to that. Always asking questions he already knew the answers to. There were some things Makoto wouldn’t outgrow. Haru couldn’t help it. He had to turn around to see Makoto’s face, to search it for a clue as to how he was supposed to respond. _Did you mean it?_ Yes or no. Which answer would hurt Makoto less? That was all that mattered.

“I meant it.” He went with the truth. He owed Makoto that much. 

Haru waited for the grip on his wrist to loosen as he stared at Makoto, not sure how he would react. He would probably tell Haru not to worry about it. It would be something both of them would always remember, though they would care enough to pretend like they forgot. 

But Makoto kept his hold. “You didn’t misread anything.” His eyes filled with tears again, a smile spreading across his face. A real smile this time. Haru knew this one was real. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you when I jumped back. You just caught me off guard.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” Haru refuted stubbornly, looking away for a moment.

He looked back at Makoto just in time to see him moving closer, slowly, continuing until he could press his forehead against Haru’s. Haru wanted to brush their bangs aside, to feel Makoto’s skin against his own everywhere they were touching. Instead, he closed his eyes, waiting for the soft skin of their lips to meet again, knowing that they would, hoping at the very least. Heat radiated from both of their faces. Makoto continued to hold Haru’s wrist, not wanting to break the link between the two of them, always touching. 

“Can we try again, Haru?” A barely audible whisper.

“Stop asking questions you already know the answers to.”

Haru laughed quietly and brought his free hand to the back of Makoto’s head, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his thumb on the nape of Makoto’s neck gently before kissing him. He paused there for just a moment, lips parting slightly. He licked Makoto’s closed mouth to indicate that he wanted to enter. When Haru didn’t get what he wanted, he pulled back. He saw Makoto’s eyes shut tight, lips quivering. Haru couldn’t help but smile, remembering that Makoto was just as inexperienced and nervous as he was.

“Makoto. Open your mouth.”

Instead, he opened his eyes, looking genuinely confused and profusely apologetic. “Ah, I’m sorry, Haru! I don’t know what to do! You know I’ve never kissed anyone before.” He turned a deep shade of red all the way to his ears. 

Haru laughed, understanding what Makoto had meant when he said he loved him too much. Being with Makoto, thinking about Makoto, touching Makoto. There was no way Makoto could love Haru as much as Haru loved him. But he did. For some reason, he did. _I love you too much, too._ He would be sure to tell him that, even if he already knew. “It’s OK. We’ll try again next time.” Haru would promise an endless supply of next times. 

He got up on his knees, pushed back Makoto’s bangs, and kissed him on the forehead. Makoto smiled again. So many ways to make him smile. Haru vowed to discover all of them. 

“So then, should we get lunch?” Makoto asked. “There’s a café nearby I wanted to take you to, actually."

“Fresh air sounds nice.”

They stood, stretching out their limbs that had been folded for too long under a heavy burden. There was still something Haru wanted to say, and he knew he had to say it while he could use the unbridled elation he felt from everything that had just happened.

“If you’re worried about money, we could always find an apartment together next year. If you wanted to. To save money.”

“Haru…” Makoto immediately embraced him, grinning widely. “I didn’t think you’d want to. You’re so used to living alone.”

Haru returned the hug, glad that he was saved from the embarrassment of Makoto seeing his own smiling face. “It doesn’t mean that’s what I want now. Don’t just assume things.”

Makoto stepped back, chuckling at the clear contradiction. “You tell me not to ask questions and not to assume. So which is it?”

“You should just know.”

“You’re not being fair!”

“Forget it, I won’t live with you.”

“Haru!”

“Fine, but I won’t cook for you.”

“I’ll cook for you, then.”

“No thanks. I don’t wanna die.”

Makoto laughed as he led Haru outside, pulling the door shut behind them. “Ah, do you have your key? I forgot mine on the counter.”

The key in Haru's pocket. All along, Makoto had intended for him to keep it. Haru pulled the door shut and lightly touched it, the paint warm from the sun. This was Makoto’s new door to his new home. Haru didn’t know anything about this door except that it would always open to Makoto. He looked up into a sky filled with towering buildings that obscured his view. It was so different from the clear skies he was used to, vast enough to make you feel like you were looking at the whole world. But the sky, the sounds, the unfamiliarity of it all, none of it mattered. Wherever Makoto was, that was home for Haru.

“Let’s go, Haru-chan!”

Haru turned to see Makoto standing a little ways from him, brightly illuminated in the afternoon sun, hand extended. Haru took it without hesitation and kept holding it, intertwining their fingers. He wondered how far the restaurant was, hoping it would be a bit of a walk.

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fun, here are some other things in Makoto’s “Haru” box!  
> \- Pictures his parents took, including one of him and Haru together every year on the first day of school, playing with Ran and Ren, many swimming pictures, the igloo they built one winter as kids, Makoto’s birthday parties, falling asleep together, on vacation together, Haru giving Makoto cooking lessons (Makoto's parents love taking pictures)  
> \- Mittens and a matching scarf made by Haru's grandma; Haru had a matching set  
> \- The books Haru has given Makoto every year for his birthday since he was seven (The first one was about a dolphin and his ocean friends; the most recent one was a guide for succeeding at university with study tips, meditation exercises, simple recipes, etc.)  
> \- The clown fish toy he picked from the first time at the swim club  
> \- Other various swimming things from over the years: awards, old goggles and swimsuits, his favorite towel  
> \- Maps they drew to remember secret locations  
> \- A pair of stuffed dogs that they slept with as babies  
> \- The apron Haru gave him when they cooked together  
> \- Postcards Haru sent from family vacations (The first one he ever sent has a picture of a lake, but after that he started picking ones that Makoto would like more, such as cartoon characters, animals, sunsets, etc.)  
> \- Various toys he and Haru played with, including coloring books, figures, video games, and movies  
> \- A container of sand from the beach that he collected the day before their flight to Tokyo  
> \- An essay he had to write for school about his best friend  
> \- A small notebook he and Haru kept in elementary school to write notes to each other (Makoto wrote very long entries about his day and what they could do after school; Haru’s were short but he drew lots of pictures.)
> 
> *Makoto keeps their "boyfriend shirt" with his regular clothes because he still wears it*


End file.
